


On the Horizon

by lostonthisisland



Series: The Scourge [1]
Category: Green Day
Genre: AU, Angst, Gen, Horror, Zombies, alternate reality - zombies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-20
Updated: 2015-01-20
Packaged: 2018-03-08 08:34:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,273
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3202646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lostonthisisland/pseuds/lostonthisisland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"'Billie!' He bangs his elbow against the barn door, cigarette falling forgotten from his lips, 'Rise and shine, we got an audience!'</p><p>Swinging his weapon back up to his shoulder, Mike aims at the sea of bodies on the horizon."</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Horizon

**Author's Note:**

> This story is actually a couple years old. Forgot about it and I'm quite proud of it.

October, 1997. Somewhere outside of New York.

 

Mike cocks the rifle in his hands and points it at the approaching face. The sun is setting and casting an orange hue on everything below it. The barn at his back draws a long, dark shadow across the field. It stretches towards his running target and Mike squeezes the trigger. Red and white flies into the air and the thing’s body collapses dead to the ground.

 

A chill breeze sweeps his hair around his head and Mike pulls out his cigarettes, leaning against the barn wall and resting his rifle against his leg. There’ll be more, there’s always more. They’ll come all night as long as there’s living, pumping blood for them to feast on.

 

Lighting the cigarette between his lips, Mike squints his eyes to scan the darkening horizon, waiting for the staggering silhouette of the corpses. He inhales deeply and lets the smoke fill his lungs as he watches two figures appear on the hill. They’re about eighty yards away and he takes his time breathing a long trail of smoke into the cool air.

 

The things stumble towards him, their gait crooked and broken, arms jerking at their sides. Placing the cigarette back between his lips, Mike hoists his rifle up, tucking the butt of the gun against his right shoulder.

 

“C’mon boys,” he mutters aiming the weapon at one of the thing’s face, “Just a little bit closer.”

 

He waits until they’ve both dragged themselves close enough that Mike can make out their faces, can see the black hole of their mouths, open and moaning.

 

“Nuh-uh, sorry, kids. No snacks before bedtime.”

 

He pulls the trigger and watches the corpse’s face rip off, the clash of the rifle echoing into the field.

 

Swinging the barrel to aim at the other one, Mike squints and gets ready to shoot. But something is moving in the background and he glances up and away from his target, “Oh, sh-”

 

Mike quickly looks back at the corpse and he squeezes the trigger. He misses the first shot, taking a chunk out of the thing’s shoulder before his second aim hits home and the corpse drops unmoving to the ground.

 

“Billie!” He bangs his elbow against the barn door, cigarette falling forgotten from his lips, “Rise and shine, we got an audience!”

 

Swinging his weapon back up to his shoulder, Mike aims at the sea of bodies on the horizon.

 

The barn door swings open behind him and a second later Billie is at his side, yawning and checking the clip on his automatic.

 

“Mike?” Billie asks and snaps the magazine back into place on his gun, pulling the hammer back and aiming at the horizon.

 

“What?”

 

“That one of my cigarettes smolderin’ in the dirt at yer feet?”

 

Mike glances down and sees the forgotten stick lying on the ground, smoke curling around his ankles as it burns to the filter.

 

“Uhh…”

 

“Yeah, thought so. You know you’re gonna buy me more.”

 

Mike snorts and readies his finger on the trigger. They’re just about close enough.

 

“Yeah, sure Bill.”

 

He fires and the first one goes down in a chunky spray of rotted flesh. The corpse next to it drops like a stone and Mike can hear the echoing crack of Billie’s automatic ringing in his ears.

 

They continue firing like that, something that’s become routine to them in the last couple years. Aim, shoot, aim, shoot, reload, aim shoot and so on. It has long since become a mechanical motion to Mike - and to Billie as well. No need to stop and think about what they’re doing, no need to stop and brace their bodies for the impact of their guns; it had become ingrained to them, instinct.

 

They’re down to about twenty or so corpses and the worry is starting to creep into Mike’s mind. The stumbling, staggering bodies getting too close for Mike to feel comfortable with, he backs up about a foot like that will help. The panic is dawning on him and his next aim is careless, he misses by a long shot.

 

“ _Shit._ ” Mike mutters under the crack of Billie’s glock and he lines his shot up again, firing too quickly and his bullet grazes the thing’s shoulder, “Shit!”

 

He glances at his friend’s side of the horde and watches them collapse one after another. Billie’s screaming a fucking battle cry next to his ear, loud and incoherent and it fuels him to line up his next shot steady. He shoots and the thing’s face is obliterated, blood spraying close enough to speckle the barrel of his rifle.

 

Mike lines up one more shot and takes it, yelling out when it hits its mark.

 

They’re too close now, shooting them with his rifle isn’t an option. He swivels his weapon around and rams the butt end into the forehead of the corpse nearest him. Next to him Billie chucks his gun at the faces surrounding him and swipes the bowie knife out of his belt, swinging the blade in an arc and slicing the throat of the corpse closest.

Mike drops to the ground and yanks the revolver out of his boot, three quick shots in succession and the three bodies hovering over him drop to the ground. He stands and fires at the last two nearby.

 

Billie’s fighting two off on his side, his blade gleaming red in the moonlight and Mike sees it sink into its target’s neck.

 

“Bill!” The last corpse blindsides his friend and plows him over, its ugly rotted hands clawing at the pink flesh beneath it. Its mouth open and gaping goes for Billie’s neck and Mike aims at the things head, firing once and it becomes abruptly limp.

 

“Jesus.” Dropping his gun, Mike runs a hand over his face, smearing the speckles of blood he knows sit there.

 

Billie grunts and shoves the dead thing off his body, “Gross.”

 

“What the fuck was that?” Mike barks and offers his hand to pull his friend back up off the cold ground.

 

“What was what?”

 

“You! Throwing your goddamn gun at its face.”

 

Billie shrugs and wipes his hands on his pants like that’ll actually get them clean, “I was outta bullets.”

 

Mike wheezes a laugh and steps over the bodies to rescue his rifle, “Man, I hate it when they crowd like that.”

 

“Yer tellin’ me. That was a fuckin’ close one, thanks man.”

 

Mike purses his lips and nods, dismissing the incident at once. No matter how many times he has to save Billie’s ass from the brink of death, or vice versa, _that_ will be something he’ll never get used to.

 

“Hey, I’m okay. I’m fine.” Billie pats Mike’s shoulder, who just nods again in return and promptly changes the subject.

 

“Think they’re done for tonight?”

 

He sees Billie shake his head in the dark, the last of the sun finally sunk beneath the skyline, “Nah. They don’t ever stop.” His friend spits at the ground and bends to pick up his glock, “Want me to stand guard?”

 

“No,” Mike answers a touch too fast and slouches against the barn, going for nonchalant, “I mean, it was my turn tonight, I got it from here. You go back and get some rest.”

 

Billie sighs and wipes his blade on his shirt before sticking it in his belt, “Okay Mikey.” He retreats back into the barn and yells out, “See ya in the mornin’!” before Mike hears him plop down on the makeshift bed of hay over his ringing ears.

 

“Yeah.” Mike agrees and loads his rifle, his eyes searching the horizon.


End file.
